


yours to keep

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The scent of flour, sugar, and chocolate wakes Sascha.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	yours to keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts).



*

 

The scent of flour, sugar, and chocolate wakes Sascha. 

She opens her eyes, stretching out her arms to Lucas’s side of the bed. The winter sunlight is weak through the curtains, curling through the leaves and vines twisted to the ceiling of the aerie. His pillow is cool to her touch, but she does not rush out of bed. 

Today, for once, there is no reason to hurry. 

Sitting up, she leans against the headboard and pulls the blankets up to her shoulders, pushing her sleek wavy hair from her eyes. Through the bond, she feels Lucas’s contentment, amusement; the atmosphere is heavy with anticipation, a pleasurable one. Her mind turns, logic and emotion fighting for precedence. Words and questions linger on her tongue, the same ones she’s struggled to articulate for weeks now. He’s sensed her struggle; he always does, just as she does for him. But there has been no push, no nudge. Somehow over the last two years, they have figured out how to negotiate the exposing nature of her gift and their bond, and she is grateful for it. 

She is grateful for many things. 

Though the day is theirs alone, she takes a moment alone to step onto the Web of Stars, to check in, as it is. The Web is quiet, peaceful; no danger, no stress. Smiling, Sascha slips out of bed and pads to the closet, her nose twitching with the smells wafting through the air. 

When she walks into the kitchen, Lucas stands over the stove shirtless, sweats slung low on his hips. His dark hair curls at the edges of his shoulders, his olive-dark skin gleaming in the low winter sunlight. She can’t help but smile, lean against the island and gaze. 

He turns his face, glancing over one broad shoulder. “Nice shirt, kitten,” he says with a sharp grin, his eyes all but glowing. 

She sits at the island and plucks at the overlong sleeves of his discarded button-down, tilting her head. “It seemed as if you left it for me.”

“I do like you in my clothes,” he agrees, teeth white in the morning light. 

“What do I smell?” she asks, propping her chin on her hands. There are times with Lucas that she feels like a child must, with so much joy and love; she wishes it had been a part of her from the first. But mothers do what they must to protect their children, she thinks; her mouth turns downwards at the thought of Nikita, alone on such a lovely morning as this. 

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” he says, narrowing his gaze. His concern sweeps through her, a magnet to her empathy. 

“I’m fine,” she says. “And that sounds lovely.”

“One of us has to be the cook in the family,” he says with a wry smile, plating his most recent batch onto a tray. “But they can wait.”

Sascha pouts; she likes the trick with her mouth. It seems to drive him a little nonsensical. “Lucas.”

“Don’t you try that,” he says with a low laugh, sliding the tray into the oven. “They’ll keep.”

“What could you possibly want to discuss before breakfast?” she asks, exasperated. “If it’s business-related, I will turn your chest hair purple.”

“That’s an empty threat.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Just because I have yet to make good on it hardly makes it an empty one.”

Shaking his head, Lucas leans forward, his elbows resting on the island across from her. “Naughty.”

“I would like pancakes, please.”

“Hold on,” he says, leaning into kiss her. His hands reach across to cover her wrists, thumbs rubbing against the pulse there. Her skin flushes under his touch. Will it ever change? Will he ever not affect her so viscerally, so physically? She certainly hopes not. 

There, with his thumb light on her pulse and his mouth on hers, she finds her words. 

“Lucas.”

He meets her gaze, eyes green and gone cat. “Yes.”

She wets her lips, shifting her hands to settle into his. Their fingers intertwine. “I – I have been thinking – “

“I know,” he drawls, tilting his head. 

For a moment, her eyes catch on the scars on his face, fierce and beautiful. Heart thudding hard in her chest, she shifts her gaze to his once more. “I’ve stopped my contraception efforts.”

For a moment, all she can feel and hear is stillness. The aerie breathes in, chilly and frosted-over at the windowpanes with winter’s arrival. Lucas doesn’t breathe, physically or through the bond. However, there is no trepidation, no fear, no anger; she is settled and even, and he is merely – thinking. It is a ponderous moment frozen in time. Sascha has heard of these before, in popular entertainments; she has never quite felt one like this. 

Then, he smiles. It could light up San Francisco; the pleasure is palpable. 

“Okay,” he says, leaning into kiss her once again. 

“Is that all you have to say?” she asks, a little startled. 

Releasing her hands, Lucas pushes off the island and circles around to her side, movements as graceful as the panther she loves as much as him. “What do you want me to say?”

She looks up at him, reaching out to rest her hands palm-down on his bare chest. “Don’t you want to know why?” 

He cradles her head in his hands, fingers tangled in the loose waves of her hair. “I don’t need to. But if you’d like to explain it to me in scientific terms, I’ll bite. You know I like it when you talk Psy,” he grins, gaze a low simmer. 

Flushing, she scratches her nails lightly over his chest. “I don’t – I do not know whether I would make a good mother,” she says after a moment, voice soft. “I have few examples in my life to guide me, apart from Tammy. But with you – with you, I think at least to give it a chance.”

Everything in her softens and warms at the smile curving his lips, how it reaches his eyes. “The fact you would even want to try – Sascha, that means the world to me,” he says quietly. “You mean the world to me.”

Leaning up, she kisses him, shuts her eyes and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He lifts her off the stool and into his arms fully, drawing a startled laugh from her. 

“You’ve been trying to tell me about this for weeks,” he murmurs as he carries her back towards the bedroom. 

“I did not know what your response would be,” she says honestly, curling into him as he settles them onto the freshly-made bed. 

“Kitten, sometimes I think you’re out of your mind.” He weaves his fingers through her hair, touch gentle and easy. “I’m happy. You make me happy.”

Crinkling her nose, she settles herself on his chest and kisses him, her mouth soft and warm. “It may never happen,” she says softly. She knows enough of the troubles changelings have conceiving, and with so little data available on mixed-race conceptions, she has no real concrete idea of their chances. 

“Either way. You are all I’ve ever needed,” he says, kissing her and stroking his hands over the line of her back. 

Breathing in deeply, she cups his jaw and sighs his name, lets the contentment and love she has for him settle and filter through the bond. And then, she sits up, straddling his waist. 

“Pancakes?” she asks. 

Eyes darkening, he pulls her back down by the wrists, biting playfully at her throat. “Later,” he murmurs, voice all purrs. 

“I am not pleased,” she mutters even as she laughs and squirms under him. His laughter joins hers; it’s a lazy, cool, melting sort of morning. 

They have so few of them now; she wants to enjoy every moment of it. 

 

*


End file.
